


Fallen Angel

by CatyCoffeebean



Series: Fallen Angel Saga [1]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Complete, Darkiplier - Freeform, F/M, Language, Major character death - Freeform, Markiplier - Freeform, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform, darkiplier x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-29 02:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12620976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatyCoffeebean/pseuds/CatyCoffeebean
Summary: Mark is dead... What was supposed to be a lively game of poker with close and trusted friends has taken a sinister twist. Someone has murdered Mark and now it's up to you and everyone in the manor to figure out who did it and why--while you also deal with your growing feelings for your old friend Damien, the mayor, in the midst of this bloodbath. [ Completed, I will very likely be making both a prequel of sorts and a sequel of sorts so stay tuned]





	1. Old Friends Reunite

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to say that this will follow the WKM canon fairly standardly, except a few dialogue things are changed and the reader is female--with an added touch of romance with Damien! ;)

  ** _How do you stay so strong?_**

**_How did you hide it all for so long?_ **  
**_How can I take the pain away?_ **

 

* * *

 

It had been years since any of them had gotten together, especially after a rift had formed between two of the key members of their friend group. The invitation to the party lie on the table, and the young woman looked at it, exhaling. (Name), as you were more commonly known as–had recently been named District Attorney, which was in and of itself a major responsibility. You were a twenty-one year old with (h/c) hair, and (e/c) eyes, but at the moment you were wearing a long, floor length red party dress, with your hair swept up into a simple, elegant style.

 _I can’t help but wonder why Mark did this—is it because I’ve been named District Attorney?_ Shaking your head, you exhaled one last time, applying a quick touch of lipstick before picking up the invitation. “At least I’ll get to see Damien tonight,” you murmured to yourself, a smile making its way onto your face, and a blush filling your cheeks. Damien was the mayor, a college friend of yours, and the object of your fancy. Much like how you had met Damien, you had met the host of the party, Mark, in college, and through Damien, had become friends with him. Mark was an actor who had amassed a great amount of wealth as a result of his fame, and only the most auspicious people were invited to his manor, let alone his parties.

           Glancing at the clock one last time, you grabbed your suitcase and jumped into the back of the taxi waiting for you outside. “Markiplier Manor, please,” you said simply, holding on to your invitation. The taxi driver glanced back at you and then smiled, tipping his hat.

           “Right away ma’am. You the new district attorney, eh?” he asked, and you nodded. “That there’s a big responsibility. Congratulations, bet the mayor is pretty happy to be workin’ with such a pretty lady as yourself.” You laughed at that and then sheepishly covered your mouth, another giggle escaping despite your best efforts.

           “Well, we are old friends,” you said, and the taxi driver smiled, continuing the drive towards Mark’s mansion. The evening sky outside was gray, with only cloud cover in sight. “We went to university together.” A gentle shower of rain began to fall, hitting the window of the taxi. You closed your eyes and dozed off, and then awoke shortly thereafter when you felt the taxi come to a full halt.

           In front of you was Markiplier Manor, the grand house that only the closest friends of Mark could even hope to be invited to. One hand holding your invitation and the other pulling your suitcase along behind you, you walked up to the manor, suddenly being surprised by the presence of someone you’d never seen before. It was a man much taller than you, wearing an outfit that was clearly that of a military man. He had a dark mustache, and quaint glasses—was he a friend of Mark and Damien’s as well?

           When you walked up alongside him, he let out a surprised exclamation. “Oh, bully! And here I thought I was gonna be the last guest to arrive. My friends call me the Colonel.” With that, he bowed, hands behind his back in a standard military stance. He also had a strange looking hat on, one you could only assume was part of his uniform. Pulling himself out of his bow, he gestured with one arm to the door. “You’re welcome to do the same, should it please you. But, uh… after you.” You smiled amicably and gave a slight bow of your head in response, hand still clasping onto the invitation with your name written on it in Mark’s simple calligraphy.

           When the door opened, you were greeted by a man even taller than the Colonel, wearing the outfit of a butler—you could only assume he was Mark’s butler, after all, the man was rich enough that he could certainly afford to hire a butler. The butler had light brown hair slicked back neatly, and curious blue eyes. “Ah, bonjour! Welcome to Markiplier Manor. Your invitation, please.” You held out your invitation to him, and he took it quickly—but your eyes were not on the butler; they were on the man further behind him, Damien. “Very good, very good. Right this way. Good luck at the table tonight. I shall fetch you a drink forthwith.”

           It took you a moment to remember, but then you nodded. That was right, this was a poker party. Forcing yourself to stand upright, a smile immediately made its way onto your face when you saw Damien. He was wearing a well pressed suit as he always did, with a white rose over his right breast pocket, and a ribbon declaring his status as the mayor. And sure enough, as you predicted, he was leaning on his cane, a simple black one with a rounded, silver top, yet again another symbol of his status as mayor. Your heart raced despite your best efforts, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath. Damien was in mid-conversation with another man, who looked to be a detective based off of his clothing.

           As soon as he saw you approaching, however, Damien made a motion to the detective indicating that the conversation would resume later, and a bright smile made its way onto his face as you walked over towards him. “Oh! There you are, old friend. How are you settling into your new office?” He reached forward and embraced you for a moment, and you inhaled the comforting yet familiar scent of his cologne. Withdrawing from his embrace, you smiled cheerfully.

           “I’m getting used to it. It isn’t easy, but I am quite enjoying it. It’s rewarding, albeit a little difficult since some still have a rather negative attitude towards me simply because I’m a woman,” you murmured with a pout, and Damien laughed heartily, tracing a finger over your cheek, causing you to blush even more.

           “Now I know it’ll take some getting used to, but there’s no one I would rather have alongside me to protect this great city of ours. Now, I’ll see you at the table soon, but try not to rob me blind again. We’ll catch up,” he declared, heading off towards a different room, leaving you standing in the entryway in an embarrassed daze. Shaking your head lightly to clear it, you walked a little further through the room, and turned to the left, finding yourself in the dining room, where a chef stood at the table with a ladle and an empty dish.

           The chef looked to be a little older, with a tangle of long black hair cascading down his shoulder. As soon as he saw you, his eyes narrowed slightly. “If you’re looking for hors d'oeuvres, I’ll get ‘em when I’m good and ready! And stay out of my kitchen!” As he uttered the warning for you to stay out of the kitchen, he held up his ladle as if he were trying to be threatening, blocking the entrance to the kitchen. You stepped back quietly, wishing Damien were there, but to your chagrin, he was off somewhere else in the manor.

           You heard the butler pipe up from elsewhere, “Now, now. Let’s not be rude to our guest,” and you exhaled in exhaustion. At least the butler was friendly. He had a tray covered in champagne flutes in one hand, and handed one to you with a smile. “So sorry about that. Here’s your champagne. Enjoy your evening.” You turned to look at the grand staircase in front of you, and sure enough, Mark was descending down, wearing a long red, silk robe. It had been years since you had seen him, but he hadn’t changed.

           “Welcome, welcome, one and all! My name is Markiplier. Thank you for joining me on this auspicious evening. So good to be surrounded by such close and trusted friends.” He descended down a few more stairs before glancing at you. “Now, this evening, it’s not all about the poker. It’s not all about me. It’s about you,” he continued, gesturing at you, and you looked at the ground— _was it really about you?_ “ So drink up and be merry! Life is for the living! And who knows? I could be dead tomorrow.” With that, Mark threw his head back and laughed, and you took a sip of your champagne, before completely downing it.

           Due to being a little bit of a lightweight, you became drunk quite quickly. Through your haze, you played poker with the group, and also watched as Mark played, the only sober one out of everyone, save for Damien, though you were so drunk you could honestly barely tell if he was intoxicated or not. At some point you looked up from your drink and your game of poker to see Damien doing a keg stand, and a drunken laugh escaped you. Out of all the things you would have expected to see that night, your love interest flipped upside down over a keg of alcohol was not one of them.

           Amidst other things, you also noticed the Colonel doing what looked like Russian roulette with the detective—who was also intoxicated. You didn’t remember what exactly you said, but you must have said something to irritate the detective, because in his stupor, he swung back and hit you right in the face, knocking you to the floor. “God, my head…” you murmured, putting a hand up to your temple—but you were quickly intercepted by Damien, who stood above you protectively. Through your stupor, you could hear him yelling at the detective angrily.

           “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Not only did you just hit a woman but you hit a  _drunk_  one!” he growled, as you shut your eyes. You could only assume that Damien carried you back to your room as your head hit the pillow—the last thing you saw before falling asleep was the clock reading 1:30 AM.

           Damien sighed to himself as he placed you in your bed and pulled the covers over you. You should have known that drinking would only end badly for you, but you had gone and done it anyway. “You really haven’t changed from university, have you?” he murmured to you, pushing some of your hair out of your face. Shaking his head, he sighed once again. “Get some rest, you troublemaker.” With that he shut the door and headed to his room to get some sleep.

* * *

           The alarm went off the next morning, awakening you at 8:30 sharp, and you yawned, forcing yourself out of bed. Glancing at your bed, you realized that you had been tucked in, likely on purpose. “Was it Damien…?” you murmured, blushing bright red as the realization hit you. The last thing that you could remember before falling asleep the previous night was Damien leaning over you, and then his arms lifting you up, carrying you to the upper floor. Shaking your head to clear it, you pulled on your bathrobe—it was almost time for breakfast. When you opened the door, you were greeted by the butler, who was once again carrying a tray with cups on it.

           “Ah, good morning. Hope you’ve had a good night’s rest. I’ve prepared for you a seltzer with cocaine. Best thing for the morning after, if you ask me,” he said with a smile and a wink, and you glanced down at the cup incredulously before taking a sip. You could only assume he was joking. Your heart leapt into your throat when you were greeted by the sight of Damien standing outside your door, and your face flushed a deep red as you recalled what you could vaguely remember of the night before.

           Damien stepped forward, a grin on his face. “Ah, there’s our little monster! You really knocked 'em dead last night. I haven’t seen you go wild like that since our days at university. Good to let the beast out every once in a while, eh, old friend?” You grinned in response, and were slightly surprised by what Damien did next. He slipped one arm around your waist and drew you to him, resting his forehead against yours. “Then again, I’m-I’m still not exactly sure as to what we’re supposed to be celebrating here. I mean it’s good to have the gang back together, but…out of the blue like this seems… Anyway, now is not the time to become conspiratorial. Life is ours to choose, as I always say. I have some work to finish, but I’ll meet you at breakfast. We’ll all catch up soon.” He gave your waist a gentle squeeze with his hand before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and then departing off towards his bedroom.

           You looked at the receding outline of the mayor, and your fingers unconsciously touched your forehead.  _Did he… just…?_ Face flushed pink again, you headed down the staircase to wait for everyone to come down to breakfast. Looking around the house aimlessly, you were suddenly shocked by a loud thunderclap and were greeted by the sight of Mark’s body lying on the floor, sprawled out—dead.

           Your hand went over your mouth, but not before you turned and vomited, adjacent to Mark, falling to your knees. You couldn’t even scream—all you could do was tremble. Footsteps echoed from the hallway outside, near where you had just come through, and you heard the detective. “Did anyone hear that lightning? Oh, my God! There’s been a murder!” As soon as he said the word ‘murder,’ however, another thunderclap echoed outside, a bright flash of lightning illuminating the window. You were still on your knees, a hand over your mouth.

_Damien… where are you?_

           A moment after the detective had come in the room, the butler followed suit. “Excuse me, did you hear light—Oh, my God! Murder!” And once again, as soon as the word ‘murder’ was uttered, another bolt of lightning followed by a thunderclap occurred.

           Shortly after the butler entered the room, the chef entered. “Did you—? Muuurder!” And yet again, the thunder and lightning went off as soon as the word ‘murder’ left the lips of the chef. You were still on your knees, still shaking, though at this point you had wiped off your chin, and the butler grimaced at the sight of the mess on the floor left over from your stomach’s upheaval.

           Completely ignoring the fact that you were obviously not feeling well, the detective grabbed the front of your bathrobe and pulled you up, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “What the hell happened here? Who’s in charge around here? Trick question: that guy,” he yelled, pointing at Mark. “And he’s dead now, which makes ME in charge. So you better listen up good, bucko. 'Case you haven’t been paying attention, there’s been a bit of a….killin’.” 

           Unlike before when everyone had said ‘murder,’ there was no lightning. Was it a coincidence?  “And you’re my prime suspect! So you better get to explaining right quick as to the what, where, when and why you happen to be here upon this man’s death!”

           You grabbed at the front of your robe and pulled yourself away from the detective, hazel eyes narrowing as you straightened your collar. “I just got down here. Why the  _ **fuck**_ are you accusing me?!” Your eyes, much to your chagrin, filled with tears, and you internally cursed yourself. Not only were you falling apart in front of the detective, but everyone in the room was looking at you as if you were guilty.  _God, where’s Damien when I need him?!_

           Interrupting the argument, the butler turned to the detective. “Sir, the body is cold. He’s been dead a while.” You hadn’t been paying attention, so you could only assume that the butler had measured the temperature of Mark’s body.

           Instead of doing or saying anything else, the detective chuckled, crossing his arms. Much like you, he was in a bathrobe, which clashed notably with his hat, which he was still wearing—had he even taken it off? He chuckled. “A likely story! That I happen to believe completely. All right, you’re off the hook for now, but I’m a detective, and—“ The detective looked annoyed when the chef interrupted him.

           “Oh, yeah? Prove you’re a real dick!” He held up his ladle to the detective, and while it looked like he was trying to be threatening, all he was succeeding in doing was making everyone’s eyebrows raise in unison.

           The detective pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge at the chef, but then a whole line of pictures fell into view, all of him with different people. “Here’s my badge. Asshole. Those are my old partners. Don’t ask me about them.” When you only stared at him in confusion, he rolled his eyes. “Fine! I’ll tell you. Each one of them died. Each death more tragic than the last. A few of them even died in ironically hilarious ways. Which made it all the more tragic. But hey, you look like you’re up to the task. You’re my new partner.”

           You shook your head vehemently, still incapable of forming words at the moment. The last thing you wanted was to be part of a whole chain of people who had died just by working with this man. But despite your answer, the detective just laughed. “That’s what all my old partners used to say. Right before they died. All right. Hand me that fingerprinting kit behind you, partner.”

           “It’s (Name),” you corrected, crossing your arms before handing him the fingerprinting kit. “If I’m going to help you, you can at least call me by my name.” The detective huffed, but leaned down to inspect Mark’s body.

           “Thanks, partner,” he replied. Damien entered the room next, and you dashed over to him—he automatically wrapped an arm around you protectively. You were still shaking, despite the strong face you were trying to put on, and he tightened his grip on you, wrapping another arm around you, pulling you more fully into his embrace.

           “What the hell happened here?” he asked, and you buried your face in his chest, not wanting to look at the body—or anyone else in the room—anymore. Damien’s dark eyebrows drew together and he frowned. Mark’s body had been covered by a blanket before Damien had come in, fortunately, but the memory of what you had seen was still imprinted into your mind.

           The butler started in surprise, but his eyes darted back down to the blanket, his expression sorrowful. “Oh! Mr. Mayor. I’m so sorry. There’s been a murder.” Once again, the thunderclap went off, and you jumped slightly in Damien’s arms, and he glanced down at you in momentary confusion before his brown gaze darted back up to meet that of the butler.

           “A murder?” Cue the thunderclap—it was almost routine now. Every time someone said the word, the lightning went off. “Who?” Damien was slightly surprised when he felt a slight bit of wetness on his suit, and he glanced down to look at you, who still were hiding your face in his shoulder —  _were you crying?_

           “It’s Mark,” the chef piped up simply, yet sadly.

           The detective stood across the room, hands on his hips, his gaze moving from the mayor to the body. “I’m afraid he’s telling the truth. Mark’s been…killed.”

           Damien’s grip on you tightened unconsciously, and you glanced up at him, wiping at your eyes slightly before you wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed gently to offer some small form of comfort. His eyes were pained now that the gravity of the situation had hit him, and you could feel him shaking as well. “Why? Who would do this?” His normally stable voice cracked, and you squeezed his waist again, and you could feel him reciprocate the action.

           “That’s exactly what me and my new partner here are here to find out,” the detective answered, gesturing to you with one hand rather flippantly. The butler raised one eyebrow and spoke up shortly thereafter.

           “Um, excuse me. I feel like we should call the authorities for them to handle this matter,” he pointed out, and the detective rolled his eyes in response, letting out a frustrated huff.

           “Look, buddy, as far as you’re concerned, I AM the authorities. The fact of the matter is, I believe the killer is right here amongst us in this very house. With that freaky lightning storm outside, none of us would get very far, anyway. So, in the meantime, we’re stuck here. But I’m gonna get to the bottom of this. The rest of you, get back to your rooms, hunker down, and pray to God you’re not next to be murdered,” he said simply, and then as if on cue, the thunderclap occurred.

           As if accepting defeat, the butler sighed. “I’ll…I’ll check on our other guests.” With that, he left the room, and the chef seemed to agree with that notion, adding, “I’ll get back to cooking. All this death made me hungry.” He followed the butler out of the room, and left only Damien, you, the detective, and the body in the room. Damien released his hold on you, very visibly shaken by everything that had happened.

           “I…I-I need to talk to the Colonel about this.” He touched your face gently but then withdrew when you went to reach out for him, turning away, cane in one hand as he left to go find the Colonel. You could only reach for him but then let your hand drop to your side.

           “Damien…”

           Ignoring everything that had just transpired, the detective spoke up, throwing you out of your train of thought. “All right, partner. It’s time to get to work. Judging by the temperature of the body, I am sure Mark was killed around 1:30 a.m. last night. So what were you doing at 1:30 a.m. last night?” he asked. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him.

           “Damien carried me upstairs after a drunken evening where  _you_ decked me in the face, and I fell asleep at 1:30,” you said pointedly, and the detective whistled a small tune, as if he was acting like he didn’t do a thing.

           “It checks out. So, we need to figure out where everyone was and what they were doing around that time or, at the very least, who saw Mark last. You need to get out there. See if you can piece together the story of what happened last night. I’ll stick around with the body and run more tests,” he said simply, leaning down to the body. You turned on your heel, glad to be rid of him for the time being. Your first priority, whether it would help the investigation or not, was to make sure Damien was all right, though you had no idea where he had headed off to.

           Heading down one of the hallways, you heard Damien yelling through one of the doors, which was cracked open slightly. Damien didn’t normally yell—he was often quite calm, so hearing him this angry was rather frightening in a way. You could only assume he was yelling at the Colonel, and sure enough, based off the conversation, your suspicions were confirmed. “How can you be so flippant?!” he shouted.

           Sure enough, the Colonel responded shortly thereafter. “Flippant?! I’m taking this matter very seriously.” Damien snorted in disbelief, and you pressed your ear up against the door to hear what they were saying better. You assumed the Colonel was farther in the room, as Damien was the only one you could see, and he was obviously distressed.

           “Oh, don’t give me that horseshit! I know you hated him, but…goddammit, he reached out to you!” Damien growled, and the Colonel shot back, “Oh, what do you want from me?”

           Damien gestured widely with his hands, his cane still in his hand, as usual. “Wh—I want you to care!” The Colonel shot back once again, “Just because I’m not weeping like a child doesn’t mean that I don’t care.” All you could see was Damien, who looked as if he was considering what to say to try and reason with the Colonel, but upon realizing it was feeble, turned and headed towards the door. “I can’t believe you. You come find me when you pull your head out of your ass!” When he opened the door, you jumped back in surprise, and his stare roamed over you for a moment before he continued on his way, his body language exuding tension. “Excuse me.”

           You glanced back at him silently, unsure of what to say. You would have spoken to him, but he was already far away, so it was a pointless endeavor. Shaking your head to clear it, you entered to speak to the Colonel, who was sitting on a chair across the room, looking to his left, his hand up in frustration. “Damien, I don't—Oh!” He stood up as soon as he saw you, and despite himself, he grinned a little. “Ah! Good to see you again! You were quite the rapscallion at last night’s festivities. But you’re probably here to help the detective with his ‘investigation of murder.’” The Colonel made mocking air quotes as he said the last part, and then the lightning went off. “Anyway. I’ll help you, I’ll tell you what happened to our dear friend Mark.”

           That caused your heart to leap into your throat, but you nodded. “Go ahead. If you know, please, tell me.”  _Could this be the information you needed?_


	2. Deepened Bonds

 

**_You do it all for my own protection_ **  
**_You make me feel like I'll be okay_ **  
**_Still I have so many questions_ **

* * *

 

            Much to your annoyance, however, the Colonel went off into some overenthusiastic dramatization of what he thought may have happened, which was unlikely, you surmised. Mockingly, the Colonel declared in what you assumed was some sort of an impersonation of Mark the previous night, “’Oh, look at me! My name is Markiplier now! Forget all my friends or the people that helped me along the way; just look at my money! Oh, I need to pay people to be my friends! Ha ha ha! You like me? Too bad! Oh, glug glug! Oopsie poopsie! I can’t hold my booze. Gotta go off to the little boys’ room. Who wants to join me?’”

           Continuing his rant, the Colonel mocked Mark, pretending to be drunk, though this had been impossible for Mark as he couldn’t break down certain enzymes in alcohol and so remained sober always. “’I’m gonna go there upon my stairs. MY house has more than ONE staircase. Oh, look at me and how great I AM! Oh no, I’m falling! Aaah, I’m dead,’” he concluded, pretending to fall onto the ground in the same position Mark had fallen into. 

           “And that’s what happened. Probably, anyway. So, if you need to corroborate this story with anybody else, just be on your way and investigate the entire house. Go now. I’ll be here when you’re done.” The Colonel waved a hand dismissively and you sighed.

           “Well, that wasn’t much help,” you grumbled, turning and heading out of the room. Perhaps the chef or the butler would be a better person to talk to. Almost as if on cue, the butler was standing outside the room as you left, and gestured for you to follow him, and follow him you did. “Come with me. I need to show you something. Now, if you’re looking for answers, there’s really no mystery at all. There’s not a single detail of this house that I’m not privy to, and not a single guest that I have not personally vetted.” 

           That statement was one that made you wonder, but it sounded like a good lead. You followed him to a staircase that looked as if it led down to a cellar, and then glanced at him, one eyebrow raised in question. It was a little sketchy, and you had never been in Mark’s house before, so you didn’t know your way around—was the butler hiding something from you? “Now I warn you: what you are about to see is not for the faint of heart. A domain of evil this is… But in we must go. You first.”

           You looked at him incredulously, but his expression was serious. “That’s very comforting, thank you,” you huffed, but then you went down anyway, not sure what you were expecting to see. When you stepped off the last stair, in front of you was a large rack of various wines, and then your gaze dropped to the floor, where there lay a solitary bottle of wine that had been cracked into various pieces. The butler shot past you with a broom and dustpan, yelling, “Avert your eyes! I’m so sorry you had to see this! Master would be so displeased! If only he were still alive!”

           With that he began sobbing loudly, and the sound fell away as you headed upstairs to try and see if talking to someone else would help. Perhaps the chef? Though everything in you wanted to talk to Damien instead, it wouldn’t do you much good to just hang by his side all the time. After a terse exchange with the chef, you headed outside, pondering what you had seen on the security footage. Mark had been talking with the detective—Abe—about the butler and the chef, seemingly as if they had been looked into by the detective. Was that how Mark knew the detective? Did he hire him for research?

           You saw Damien outside on the patio that overlooked the city; he was pacing to and fro, wringing his cane in his hands in frustration. You cleared your throat and Damien whirled to face you, exhaling to calm himself when he realized it was just you. Birds were chirping, and despite yourself, you reached out for Damien. He sighed and let you embrace him for a moment before pulling away. 

           “Look, (Name), I’m sorry you saw that argument with the Colonel. I lost my temper, and it wasn’t right and… he must be in shock.” You placed a hand on Damien’s cheek, and he covered your hand with his, closing his eyes. He was grateful for your presence—it was calming.

           “The Colonel’s an eccentric; it’s his best quality and his worst. But he’s my friend, and…so was Mark. I know I’m supposed to be a leader in this scenario, but I can’t help but feel lost! I’ve known Mark for years, since we were kids! And he’s just gone? I don’t have any answers right now. I just need to be alone…to process all of this. We’ll talk soon, but I need to think,” he murmured, trying to withdraw from you.

           “Damien—don’t,” you said abruptly, grasping at his sleeve. “Wait.” In one fell swoop, one quick motion, you had wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his. You felt his lips part under yours as he gasped in shock, and you took that opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting your head to try and gain better access to the kiss. Somehow this was everything you had wanted, something you had forced yourself to hold back for the longest time.

           Surprisingly, however, Damien didn’t pull away, and deepened the kiss in response, crushing you against him. He murmured your name in between heated kisses, his hands grasping at your clothing like claws. “(Name)— _(Name)—_ “ he whispered, and you nipped at his bottom lip teasingly before pulling away from him. 

           He looked at you with an expression of slight frustration, his hair mussed up, his lips swollen from your kisses, and you giggled. It was oddly cute seeing him so disheveled. “I didn’t say you could quit kissing me,” he growled, slightly frustrated, but before he could kiss you again, you placed a finger against his lips to quiet him.

           “Shush. We’ll talk about this later, but like you said, you need to think. And I still have more investigating to do. I just…I wanted to do that before I lost the courage to,” you murmured, blushing deeply, and Damien laughed heartily in response.

           “God, how is it you manage to turn my mood completely around?” he asked, more to himself than to you. “I should let you go, like you said. But by no means am I done with you,” he said, voice unintentionally husky. You blushed even deeper, but poked his nose teasingly.

           “All right,” you murmured, fingers caressing his scruffy yet well-trimmed beard. “I’ll see you later.” Damien placed a kiss to your forehead and then released you. You glanced back at him longingly, but your train of thought was derailed when you heard Abe call out for you.

           He was a few feet away from you, and you felt your stomach drop. How much had he seen? Ignoring that, you sped up your gait and headed over to him, concern dotting your features. “Hey! Partner! Get over here, now! Hurry up! You’re not gonna believe this; I can barely believe this! The body: it’s gone. It’s just fucking disappeared. Look!”

           He threw open the door that led to the inside of the house, and sure enough, Mark’s body was gone.


	3. A House Divided

**_Fallen angel, just let go_ **  
**_You don't have to be alone_ **

* * *

 

           You dashed in, looking around. All that remained was an outline made of tape where the body had lay, but exactly as the detective had said, no body.

           The detective gestured angrily, shouting despite himself. “Who did this? It certainly wasn’t me. No, no. Somebody, not me, must have moved it between the time I was the last person alone with the body in the room and then stepped out for a few minutes to take care of some personal business that you don’t need to know about! Could have been anybody… except me,” he declared, speaking almost a mile a minute. 

           You thought it was rather sketchy, personally, that the detective felt it necessary to say this, but you had learned over the past day that he was almost as eccentric as the Colonel, albeit a close second. The circumstances were already strange enough as it was, and now to have all of this happen—there had to be something more to the situation.

           Shaking your head, you looked around, but were jolted out of your reverie by the butler coming in—it was like déjà vu, like a flashback to that very morning. He stood over where the body had been, looking around in confused disbelief. “What the hell happened here?” he inquired, gesturing wildly. The detective shrugged, a look of frustration on his face.

           “The body’s been moved,” he answered. The butler’s expression, in response, became more confused, if such a thing was even possible.

           “On its own?!”

           The detective shrugged again, glancing back at you momentarily before exhaling in frustration. “We haven’t quite ruled that out just yet, but let’s not forget we’ve got a murderer,” he declared, and the lightning cracked loudly outside on cue.

           The Colonel came in the room shortly thereafter, getting in the faces of everyone one by one as he surveyed the area. “Bully! Quite a storm out there, eh, chaps? What are you doing huddled in here in fear?” The chef piped up a moment after, startling most of them with how suddenly he had shown up. “We have a zombie problem,” he declared, and you exhaled tersely. Couldn’t  _any_ of them take it seriously? Although you supposed that there could in fact be things out of the ordinary, you doubted that any of that could extend to this house, let alone to such a degree that someone would be reanimated from the dead.

_I have been feeling a little… off since I entered the house though._

           The Colonel continued on his grand rant, though now he had drawn his gun and was swinging it around, and you ducked, resisting the urge to smack him. “Ah, homo necrosis! The  _most_  dangerous game. Well, if someone needs to put the old lad down again, I’m well up for the privilege,” he declared, and that made everyone’s eyebrows shoot up to the top of their foreheads.

           Abe was the first one to speak, pointing a finger at the Colonel, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean by ‘again’, and what do you mean by ‘privilege’?” he asked. You were internally glad that he asked that question—you were afraid to vocalize it yourself. Yes, Damien had said that the Colonel was an eccentric, but sometimes he just seemed a little more than odd—mad? No, perhaps it was just the leftover alcohol in your system from the previous night, you guessed.

           The Colonel put the gun down, seemingly coming back to his senses, realizing it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to wave it around. “I’m just saying, I’ve got plenty of… e-experience on the matter,” he reasoned, and your eyes narrowed. Was what Damien had been saying true, or was the Colonel more than just eccentric? You decided to reserve your judgement, however, and see how he acted more.

           The chef, not wanting to be left out, spoke up, “So do I.” Everyone’s eyes darted to him, and then back to the Colonel after a moment.

           “Yeah, that just raises more questions,” the detective pointed out, arms crossed over his chest. You glanced back and forth from the detective to the Colonel to try and see if you could figure out just what they were up to, but before you could say anything, the Colonel spun on his heel and headed in the opposite direction.

           “Well, I’m off to the grounds to see if I can catch a whiff of the old bag of bones, eh?” he declared, walking away. The butler spoke up as the Colonel left, but to no avail, it didn’t stop the other man.

           “Wait, weren’t you and Mark the same age?” he asked, and the Colonel laughed, before the laugh dissolved into a cough.  _They were the same age?_ youwondered. You hadn’t met the Colonel before, so you hadn’t known how long they had been friends—the only one of the three you had known the longest was Damien, and even then, you didn’t know if he was the same age as Mark and the Colonel were.

           Abe shrugged, seemingly coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be worth it to go after the Colonel at the moment. They were all still stuck on the grounds of the manor; they would always be able to converse with him about the matters later. “All right, I don’t trust him. Then again, I don’t trust anyone. Alright, lock this place down. Secure the front gate. I don’t want anyone in or out of this place until we get to the bottom of this,” the detective ordered, but then the butler interrupted.

           “Locks won’t keep people from getting out, sir,” he pointed out, and the detective rolled his eyes before the chef also turned on his heel to leave.

           “Locks won’t, but Chef will.” With that cryptic statement he headed off toward what was predictably the kitchen, and the butler looked at the detective for some sort of answer or explanation.

           The detective turned to the butler, speaking firmly. “Look, you’re a real smart son of a bitch. Handsome, too. Beautiful, even. But, we don’t have time for this. I think we forgot the most important question of all during our arousing game of whodunit. Why?  _Why_?” he asked, leaving the butler looking confused—it was like none of them had actually stopped to think about that. Starting off in the same general direction that the Colonel had walked in, he gestured for you to follow him, and you begrudgingly did.

           “Come, walk with me. Why did he invite us all here? Why  _tonight_? He said we were celebrating something, but he never specified what. It’s almost as if this whole shindig of a hootenanny was just a ruse. Mark was my friend; had been for years. But then he went quiet. I knew something was wrong, I just never figured out what,” he murmured, pausing after you had walked a fair distance. “Now I guess I never will. Look, I’m gonna level with you; you’re my new partner. I’ve been working with him for years. Now I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I know something is wrong.” They began walking up the stairs that Mark had descended just the previous night—when he was  _alive—_ how did things change so quickly?

           As you walked up, and he continued musing, he declared, “There is a murderer—“ but was interrupted by the thunder and lightning “—here amongst us, and we need to find him. Now you look like a trustworthy woman. I know we just met, but I am an excellent judge of character. Excellent like a fox,” he said with a grin.

           “I smiled and fed them a line of bullshit. The truth was, I couldn’t trust them any more than the other scuzz around here,” Abe continued, “But like my late partner once said right before he died, best to keep your enemies close. You don’t look like you have a reason to kill him. And if you do,” he said with a grin, “Best to keep your enemies close, eh?” You shrugged, only half listening to what he was saying, as you were trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the house—you hadn’t had that many chances to look around before getting drunk the previous night.

           Now he was getting to the real questions, and you perked up when he asked, “So, the real question we should be asking is: Who stood to gain the most from Mark’s death? Now, in my thorough analysis of the corpse, I discovered that in addition to being stabbed 37 times, he was also poisoned, beaten, strangled, drowned, and shot, in that order. Now, if you ask me, that’s a lot of trouble to go through to knock off one guy, and it sure as shit is no accident. No. No, my friend. There’s gonna be no simple candlestick-in-the-library solution to this whole…puzzle.” You glanced at him incredulously.

           “Is that seriously everything that happened?” you asked. “All last night?! Stabbed, poisoned, shot, beaten, strangled—everything?!” and you were shocked when you saw him nod.

           “His body was  _fucked up._ I didn’t want to tell anyone else about it, but… God, it was terrible,” Abe murmured, looking a little pale. You couldn’t blame him; if you had seen the extent of the damage, you wouldn’t have been taking it well either. Seemingly he was trying to ignore it, as you reached Mark’s master bedroom, and the detective clapped his hands together. “So, we’re gonna have to do the detective-ly thing and go through the victim’s most private and personal possessions.”

           He put a hand on the knob and swung the door open, an arm gesturing for you to go in. “Well, after you.” Abe let out a sigh, and put his hands on his hips, surveying the room—papers were everywhere, books were scattered, clothes were awry on the bed, to name a few of the things out of place. “Looks rough, but I don’t think he was killed here. Take a look around, see if you find anything, but  _be careful_. I’ve lost three partners before to bedroom booby traps. Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence! Lemme know if you find anything,” he ordered, and you nodded.

           There just seemed to be something almost sacrilegious about this, to be digging through the possessions of a man—a friend—who was now dead, and whose body was nowhere to be found. You looked at a desk in the corner of Mark’s room, and was a little surprised to find four different photos: three were facing up, and one was facing down.

           The first one was a picture of Mark, Damien, and the Colonel all smiling and laughing, and you found yourself smiling in response. They must have been such good friends—and Damien— _God_ , that smile made your heart race. Your eyes darted to the next picture, and confusion filled you. Damien and the Colonel were off to the side in the picture and it looked as if they were glaring at Mark, who was looking happily at a woman who was hanging off his arm. 

           The third picture that followed was just a picture of Mark and Damien, both looked somber, and the Colonel and the woman were nowhere to be found. The final picture was flipped over, and you picked it up. It was a picture of only the Colonel, and the frame was shattered. That seemed like a clue of some sort, so you held it up to Abe.

           “You find a clue?” he asked, and you nodded, holding up the picture of the Colonel to look at it closer—but was interrupted by the Colonel himself, who stood in front of you and got in your face, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. You jumped, putting the photo down as the Colonel looked at you quizzically.

           “You’re quite on the case, aren’t you?” he asked. “Say, detective? May I borrow your friend here?” The detective stood in the far back corner of Mark’s room, and looked defeated, yet looked at the Colonel with a large amount of skepticism.

           “Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, before setting down whatever it was that he was looking at. “Don’t worry, partner, I’ll handle it from here.”

           With that, you began following the Colonel out of the room, albeit nervously. The Colonel was just too wild for you to predict—and you almost wished Damien was there, he would at least be able to rein in the Colonel’s more hyper or unpredictable tendencies. “Bully. Take a walk with me. I thought that it was about time that we got to…  _know_  each other. Someplace far, far away from the prying eyes of, uh… anyone else. Come with me,” he growled, and the tone of his voice made you shiver against your will.

           It took a moment, but almost as if out of nowhere, you were off the second floor and then on the downstairs patio outdoors, and you had to stop yourself for a moment—had you just… teleported? No, it couldn’t be. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but…you and the Mayor know each other, right? He’s a good man, that one,” the Colonel declared, and you relaxed a little bit as the conversation turned to Damien.

           “Yes, I do, we went to college together,” you replied, and the Colonel laughed heartily.

           “We’ve been fast friends for as long as I can remember. Now there came a time when I could have said the same thing about Mark, but.. Well, best not to speak ill of the dead.” You reached a pool out on the patio and you glanced at it, and somehow, within a moment, the Colonel had changed into a bathing suit with horizontal red and white stripes, and a hat that looked like something an Italian gondolier would wear. “Oh! The pool hasn’t aged a day! GERONIMO!” he shouted, jumping in.

           You raised an eyebrow, but then whirled to look to your right when you heard hurried footsteps and saw Damien. Your face immediately flushed bright red much to your chagrin, and the sentiment seemed to be mutual, as Damien’s face was red as well. You noticed him push his hair back, smoothing a stray strand pack into place before he spoke. “Have you seen the Colonel? I thought I heard him. I need to speak with him. I may have been a little short at our last encounter… Well, if you do see him, let me know.” He gave a small nod of his head before heading off—you hadn’t even had the chance to tell him where the Colonel was before he had left, and you shrugged.

           Somehow, the Colonel had gotten out of the pool, back in his military garb, completely dry, and was standing in front of you proudly, as if he wasn’t completely avoiding Damien, and you sighed. 

           “Bully! Oh, life needs a bit of madness, eh, chap? Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes! The grisly business inside. Well, I’m sure I’m not the first to say that our host had a great deal of enemies as of late,” he grumbled, and you tilted your head.

           Enemies? Mark hadn’t struck you as the kind of man to make enemies of anyone, but then again, you didn’t know him as well as the Colonel or Damien did. “My prying eye might suspect that the people who worked for him might have reason to stab him in the back. God knows he’s a tough son of a bitch to work for.” The Colonel had continued walking forward, and then when he reached a railing, he looked over it and his expression brightened—followed by him immediately dashing down the stairs. “Oh, the old golf course! I-I’ll fetch my clubs.”

           After this escapade he disappeared from view and you exhaled tersely. He had such a bad habit of running away—but then almost as if on cue, Damien came over to you, looking around. Where the hell had the Colonel gone, anyway? You was, however, glad to see Damien, so you couldn’t complain. “Colonel? Damn, I thought I heard him,” he murmured, stepping forward, linking his hand with yours affectionately before giving you a quick yet gentle kiss on the forehead. “No matter. Would you accompany me? There’s something that I would…very much like to discuss with you.”

           You felt your stomach do flips—was he hoping to discuss what had transpired earlier? Judging by the look on his face, he was more likely about to discuss the issues that they had been dealing with in regard to Mark and the death. Sure enough, he continued, still holding your hand. “Now, I know you’ve been assisting our… intrepid detective with his investigation, but… I have to bring some concerns of mine to the forefront. If we look at this situation logically, we can only assume that the killer who struck down our dear friend Mark was with us last night,” Damien reasoned, pointing at the manor. The pain was obvious in his voice, and you squeezed his hand.

           “And while I would stake my life on the innocence of the Colonel or yourself, can we really say the same of our beloved detective? Or worse yet, mayhaps our counting skills aren’t as good as we assume them to be… and mayhaps… in the shadows of this manor, unseen to any of us, lay hidden…a murderer,” he murmured, as the lightning went off on cue. Right as Damien uttered that word, however, a gunshot rang out in the house, and the sounds of arguing could be heard from outside. Damien didn’t even give you a second glance before he dashed toward the house, still holding your hand, throwing open the door.

* * *

 

           Inside was the detective, aiming his gun at the Colonel, who was, in turn, aiming at the detective. There was a vase shattered on the floor, and the butler dashed over to it quickly. You hid behind Damien for a moment and then moved to his side a minute after.

           “I don’t know what you’re playing at but you better lower your weapon, you murderer!” Abe growled, still aiming his gun at the Colonel.

           “I bloody well won’t, you’re the one that assaulted me! For all I know, you could be the murderer!” the Colonel shot back, aiming the gun at the detective’s head. He looked furious, ready to shoot, and you gripped Damien’s hand tighter. The Colonel wasn’t just an eccentric—you saw the animalistic rage in his eyes and it struck you then—he was  _dangerous_. The whole time the two shouted the word ‘murderer,’ the thunder went off on cue.

           The chef ran into the room and then threw his arms up in the air when the Colonel aimed the gun at him. “What the fu—whoaah!” Abe, however, tightened his grip on his gun and shouted at the Colonel again. “ _Last chance, drop your weapon!_ ”

           The butler, however, had his attention focused on the shattered glass. “Master’s prized vase!” he cried.

           Damien kept an arm in front of you protectively, cane in hand, raised. “Everyone, please! I know we’re all on edge, but can’t we resolve this amicably?” You sighed. It was so like Damien to want to resolve things peacefully. It was how he acted in proceedings with the city too—he was always a much kinder soul than you.

           The detective, still enraged, spat at Damien, “On edge?! This psycho tried to shoot me!”

           Mockingly, the Colonel growled, “That’s a bold-faced lie! I was merely doing some light target practice!” His gun was still aimed at the detective and Damien pushed you further behind him, shielding you with his body, even though it was the last thing you wanted him to do.

           “Inside?!” the butler shouted incredulously, sweeping the broom across the Colonel’s face.

           The Colonel grimaced. “Well, yes, I couldn’t go on the grounds now with that bloody chef in my way, could I?” Right as he said this the chef got up in his face, and the two men glared at each other fiercely. “You’re damn right! You should’ve remembered that, Private! Besides, you’re not my boss anymore!”

           That shocked you—had the Colonel lived here before? You had thought maybe you were getting to the bottom of things, but it appeared that you were just more confused than ever. Damien said nothing, still standing in front of you, and you wanted to move past him, to confront the Colonel about his place in all of this, but now was not the time.

           “It’s “Colonel” now,” he growled at the chef, and the detective interrupted—neither man had dropped their weapons.

           “Enough of this horseshit! You knew I was onto you and you were trying to whack me off before I could finger you… as the murderer!” Abe had paused after a moment to reconsider his phrasing, as it sounded rather inappropriate, but the lightning ruined the almost ironic comedic timing of it all, and the Colonel yelled back, “ _I will not be called a murderer in my own home!_ ”

           Right as the lightning flashed and the thunder cracked at the mention of the word ‘murderer,’ the door was flung open by a newcomer.

           “Stop!” the female voice shouted, and you looked past Damien’s arm to see none other than the woman that had been in the photo with Mark.


	4. Unexpected Puzzle Pieces

**_How do you stay so strong?_ **

**_How did you hide it all for so long?_ **  
**_How can I take the pain away?_**

* * *

           The woman that had entered the house was indeed the woman that had been in the photo with Mark. She had black short hair in a pixie cut, and wore a dark black veil with a long black dress—it looked like she was in mourning. The Colonel seemed to perk up when he saw her, while Damien bristled noticeably. You found yourself grimacing; how did Damien know her?

           “What are you doing?!” she demanded, almost immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. She carried herself with confidence, and it showed in everything that she did from the moment she had entered.

           Much like you, the detective was—thankfully—suspicious of the woman. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, but the Colonel still looked relieved, and everyone’s eyes turned to look at him when he spoke up.

           “Celine? What are you doing here?” he asked, still holding his gun up at the detective. Damien, however, was tense, his hand clenched tightly around his cane. He was holding onto it so tightly that the veins in his hand were popping out, and you found yourself placing a hand on his forearm to try and comfort him  _somehow,_ but it was as if the gesture went completely unnoticed.

           The detective, however, had not received the answers he wanted, and continued yelling in the hopes that the Colonel would give him the reply he desired. “’Celine?’ How the hell do you know her?” he growled. The butler interrupted, however, and the detective rolled his eyes in frustration, exhaling tersely.

           “Madame, I'm afraid you've come at a very inopportune time. Something dreadful has happened here,” the butler tried to say, clearly hoping to address the issue sensitively. 

           You found your mind racing, jumping to conclusions of how exactly this woman—Celine—was involved with Mark, let alone how she was involved in the whole situation. Judging by what you had seen in the pictures in Mark’s room, it was very likely she had been involved with Mark romantically, possibly even married.

           Celine crossed her arms and looked around at everyone. “I can see that, and I'm glad I got here before it got any worse,” she said, and you found yourself resisting the urge to snort. If Celine truly cared about what had happened, wouldn’t she have been more involved? Been here from the start? Anything similar?

           The chef piped up again, an expression of defeat on his face, and he held up his index finger. “This is only the tip of the iceberg! And it's a big iceberg. How can I put this delicately?  _Mark’s fucking dead_!”

           Celine gasped and put a hand to her chest in surprise. “What?”

           “Dead, like my hopes and dreams,” the chef murmured, shoulders sinking before he shouted, “And he's a flesh-eating zombie.”

           Still keeping her hand on her chest, Celine responded in a concerned tone, “Homo necrosis…” The Colonel looked elated as he held up his gun again, this time aiming it away from Abe, shouting, “Exactly, hence the guns.”

           The detective looked absolutely finished with everything, and rolled his eyes before yelling at the Colonel, “That is not ‘hence the guns!’”  Your eyes shot up to view Damien’s profile as you tried to gauge just what was going through his mind. Unlike normally, his expression was unreadable, and you found yourself almost frightened. Damien tended to be an open book in regard to almost everything, but to now have him closed off was disconcerting.

           The butler was clearly fed up with people yelling and aiming weapons at each other inside the house, and stepped in between the detective and the Colonel, holding his hands up as if that small gesture would force them to cease. “Stop waving those bloody guns around!” As he said this, the Colonel waved his gun in the butler’s face, and the chef joined in, waving his ladle.

           Celine, clearly annoyed, held up her hand in response, her fine eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Hol-hold on! Tell me what happened! How did Mark...die?” Clearly unaware of whatever quirks the house possessed, she used the word ‘die’ instead of murder—though as she would soon find out, it was almost as if the house had some sort of sentience to it. Damien finally found his voice and spoke up next, surprising everyone in the room, but especially you.

           “It was murder. And worse yet... The body is missing.” His voice was careful, restrained. It was very unlike him and was still chilling to you, but the difference in his tone from normal seemed to baffle everyone else in the room as well. And as always, as if on cue, the lightning went off when the word ‘murder’ was uttered. Celine noticed this and her gaze darkened.

           “What? Show me. And don't say that word,” she ordered. It would be rather difficult for anyone to show her the body, however, you thought. They had all been searching for it when they had downtime, but nobody had found it yet and it still remained as unsolved as ever.

           The chef, however, seemed to be taking great joy from annoying Celine, and replied, “What word? Murder?” Once again, the lightning flashed and the thunder roared.

           Celine threw up her hands in the air out of sheer frustration. “Yes! That word!” but the butler piped up, “Well, I mean murder is a rather accurate description of what occur—“ but he was cut off by Celine, whose eyes were trained on Damien and you.

           “Do you not see the lightning?” she snarled at the butler, getting right up in his face. He balked, and backed up, most definitely appearing to not want to deal with the fiery temper of this woman.

           The detective spoke up for the first time in a while, commenting, “You sayin' it was lightning that murdered Mark?” It was more a sarcastic reply than anything else, as he had been the last one to inspect the body before it had vanished, but Celine didn’t reply, and the Colonel appeared to have taken it literally.

           The Colonel shrugged offhandedly, still holding his gun. “Well, Mother Nature doesn't exactly strike me as having murderous intent. ...Unless you count that time I was sucked into the board game: Jumanji and I wa—!” He was cut off by Celine, and looked almost offended, like a puppy that had been kicked out into the rain.

           Damien was as quiet as ever, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly, but he was far too tense to reciprocate. “Damien,” you whispered quietly so only he could hear, “who exactly  _is_ Celine?” You were waiting for his response, and when he didn’t reply, you crossed your arms. “ _Damien, tell me_.”

           Damien exhaled and looked back at you, turning around. “Celine was Mark’s wife, and she’s my younger sister,” he whispered simply.

           You looked at Damien with an expression of shock. “She’s your sister?” you hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” Damien looked at you apologetically and sighed.

           “We never really got along, and when I turned eighteen we cut ties after I left home and started going to university,” he explained. He said nothing more, leaving you confused, and he looked as though he wasn’t about to answer any more of your questions.

           Celine interrupted the hushed conversation between you two, as well as stopping the Colonel from continuing his rant about Jumanji. “Stop, stop! Look, whatever's happening here is tapping into forces far beyond our control.” Damien raised an incredulous eyebrow, but remained silent.

           You couldn’t stop yourself from whispering to him once again. “What on earth does she mean? Is she involved with some sort of ghost shit?” The only answer you received was a small nod of Damien’s head.

           “Yes, it’s likely,” he murmured.

           Once again, as if trying to test the waters of Celine’s patience, the chef mumbled “Murder!” and the lightning flashed. Deciding to join in, the Colonel slowly drawled, “Mur...doch?”

           Nothing.

           Even the detective joined in, confidently stating “Malarkey,” and as if playing a game of Marco Polo in the pool, the butler shouted, “Marco!” After these shenanigans continued, the lightning went off after the word ‘murder’ was uttered, and Celine had eventually taken them to sit at a round table in one of the different rooms.

* * *

 

           Celine folded her hands and placed them on the table, her gaze piercing into everyone there. “Enough! Look. Mark's death is a terrible thing indeed. But I fear that there are forces much darker than anything we've seen here today. I'm well versed in the arcane arts, but if you, untrained and uninitiated, can summon lightning with a mere word, we're all in far graver danger than anything we could ever hope to face alone. We're gonna have to work together if we're gonna survive this,” she declared. You personally wasn’t a believer in anything supernatural, and the idea that there could be something more sinister possessing the house was farfetched—were you the only one who wasn’t trusting Celine?

           Damien looked at her incredulously, one hand gripping the table firmly, his other hand resting on your thigh as a form of comfort, though his grip on your thigh was a little tight as well, and his cane lay across his lap. You put your hand on top of his and squeezed it underneath the table, and he questioned, “Celine, what are you proposing?”

           Celine was very firm in her declaration, and tipped her chin up, indicating she wasn’t about to argue about this. “We need to speak with Mark.”

           You didn’t believe in supernatural things but even the idea of messing around with something of the occult just sounded like a bad idea. The chef interrupted, and you glanced at Celine to see her rolling her eyes, and then glanced at Damien, who seemed to be resisting the urge to bang his head on the table. “I knew it! He's a flesh-eating zombie!” the chef declared.

           Celine’s voice was coated with annoyance. “No—“

           A moment after, the Colonel interrupted, “Well, maybe one of those smart zombies: homeo sapio zombifus.” Celine shook her head and huffed in frustration. “No, no. I need to commune with the dead.”

           The detective seemed to agree with you, and murmured, “That… doesn’t sound like a good idea,” but Celine glared at him and tipped her chin up again. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need your permission. But you--!” You glanced at Celine to see her pointing at you, and you put a hand on your chest, pointing at yourself with a confused expression. “You've been awfully quiet through this whole thing.” 

           Damien glared at his sister, and moved his hand from your thigh to rest around your waist.

           The chef and others joined in, and the chef grumbled, “With those beady little eyes.”

           “And wearing  _those_  rags, pff,” the butler said mockingly.

           The detective gestured at you, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe I shouldn't have trusted someone so goddamn gorgeous,” he mumbled, and you could feel Damien bristle jealously.

           You glanced at the Colonel but he waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I'll pass.”

           Celine, however, changed direction with what she said next, placing her hand back on the table. “But I feel like I can trust you. I sense that you have a far greater part to play in all of this. Will you help me find an answer?”

           You glanced at Damien, but he was watching Celine with a completely neutral expression—you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You nodded, and a smile made its way onto Celine’s face, one that was a little chilling. “Perfect. Come with me.” You stood up, and you started to follow, reluctantly withdrawing yourself from Damien’s touch.

           The detective’s eyebrows narrowed, and he barked, “Alright, that's enough. I'm not gonna just sit around and let you drag my partner off to her very likely death. I won't stand for it!” With that, he stood up and slammed his hands on the table, glaring at Celine.

           The Colonel seemed to disagree with this notion, and shot a glare at the detective. “Well, I trust Celine with all my heart! I see no reason why an-any-any one should doubt her!” he stuttered. Damien seemed to be biting his tongue, keeping his opinion silent.

           The butler piped up, holding up an index finger in protest. “Well, I have to agree with our intrepid detective here. It just doesn't seem natural…” he murmured.

           The chef gestured offhandedly to the detective. “I never liked this uptight asshole. He walks around with a stick up his ass. But I think he's right, something's weird.”

           Celine rolled her eyes, but stood up fully from the chair, pushing it back in to the table, and you followed suit, doing the same. “If it makes you feel any better, you guys can stand watch outside the door, but my work  _cannot_  be interrupted,” she said firmly.

           Abe’s stone-hard stare met Celine’s. “Oh, believe you me. I'll be keeping a close eye on every single one of you. Even myself. Especially myself.”

           Celine’s brown eyed gaze met yours as she looked away from the detective, and she gestured for you to follow her before walking out of the room, and you did as you were instructed. Finally drawn out of his thoughts, Damien pushed the chair he had been sitting in back, and dashed after you and Celine, blocking the way up the stairs with his arm. “Wh—Celine? Celine, wait. Wait!”

           Celine’s tone was terse, and you stood behind her, watching Damien with a sad expression. He looked torn apart—it obviously bothered him being the only one who seemed to care about what had been happening. “Yes, Damien?” she asked, pursing her lips.

           He hesitated, but spoke up anyway, “I… are you alright?”

           Celine sighed, saying nothing, still glaring at him. At that moment, you could definitely see the familial resemblance in how they carried themselves, in their firm stares, and in their determination to get what they wanted. “I know this news can't be settling well with you,” Damien said, and you remembered that Mark and Celine had been married, but if something struck you as odd, it was the fact that Celine didn’t even seem to care that Mark was dead. All she seemed to care about was exploring the possible darkness in the house.

           “I'm fine for now,” she said simply, and pushed past Damien’s arm, heading to the upstairs. Damien followed her, and you tagged along behind, not sure what to say.

           “I... er... But all this talk of the occult! And—and Mark is dead, wait! Wait. I just didn't think you were the type to become mixed up with all this,” he said once they reached the top of the stairs, and you could hear the pain in his voice as it broke.

           Celine pointed at him threateningly, her voice breaching no contradiction. What she said was an order. “There is more to this world than you could ever hope to imagine. I just had my eyes open to a small portion of it.” With that she took off down the hall, not waiting to hear what Damien had to say. You moved past Damien slowly, and he spoke down the hall to Celine. “I…Just be careful,” he sighed, and when you stepped up next to him, he looked at you thoughtfully. “You too.”

           Saying nothing, you embraced him, and he placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before you withdrew, heading down the hall after Celine.


	5. Dark Forces

_**I was right beside you** _  
_**When you went to hell and back again** _  
_**And I, I couldn't save, a fallen angel** _

* * *

 

           Shortly after heading down the hall after Celine, you sat down in a room that was quite small—all you could see was a green curtain behind where Celine was going to sit, and on the table was various occult items, as well as a crystal ball and some tarot cards laying on the table. Celine pulled out the chair across from where you were about to sit, and firmly ordered, “Could you hand me my bag?”

           You glanced behind you and found a large bag, which you handed to Celine.

           “Thank you. Please, have a seat,” she instructed. When you took a seat, Celine folded her hands in front of her, her gaze piercing through you. “Now, I'm sure this must be unsettling for you, being thrust into this series of unfortunate events. But I promise—with your help, I'm going to get to the bottom of this.”

           You raised an eyebrow and then spoke up. “Celine—I hate to say, but… I’ve never been much of a believer in all that. Are you sure there’s something darker to all this?” As soon as the question passed your lips, you received a reprimanding glare from the other woman.

           “Trust me, (Name). I thought the same, but I lived in the house for many years with Mark. There has always been something off about it, and I took it upon myself to start researching,” she explained, before continuing on. “Now I'm not sure who would want to kill Mark, but something tells me this seemingly significant event is actually a footnote in a much larger mystery unfolding in our midst. I've never been very comfortable in this house. But something tells me... Now that my eyes are open, there are dark forces surrounding this manor.”

           Celine had begun looking through the tarot cards, and towards the end of this explanation, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “Do the same,” she ordered, and without knowing what else to do, you followed suit, and were suddenly jolted into some sort of ethereal vision with past memories of things you had experienced over the course of the time you had been at the manor. Everything was slowed down, distorted—was this clairvoyance? Did Celine really have some sort of otherworldly ability?

_The first of the slowed, distorted visions was that of you and the detective on the stairs, when he had been taking you through the house, and had told you “Keep your enemies close, eh?”_

_The second was that of the Colonel aiming his gun at the detective, shouting “I will not be called a murderer in my own home!” followed by the timely interruption of Celine screaming, “Stop!”_

_The third was that of the Colonel interrupting your and the detective’s investigation of Mark’s room, when he declared “I thought it was time that we come get to know each other, far away from the prying eyes of...anyone else.”_

_The fourth was that of the detective telling you “You're not gonna believe this. I can't believe this. The body—the body is gone. It's fucking gone!” after your moment with Damien._

_As the memories transitioned, a piercing ring began to penetrate the muddled noise of the visions. The fifth was that of Damien embracing you after the night of the party, murmuring “...Not exactly sure what we're supposed to be celebrating. I mean, it's good to have the gang back together, but out of the blue like this…”_

_The sixth was a vision that you had yet to experience, which was jarring. It was of the detective standing outside with you and the chef, and a man with a shovel—the man with the shovel was laughing, and his voice echoed through the muddled noise, “Employers come and go. Some die, some don't.”_

           With that, there was a sudden thunderclap, and everything returned to normal, and you were shaken, finding yourself looking at Celine. “What happened? Why did you stop?” she shouted.

           You breathed heavily, feeling your heart rate shoot up—were you having a panic attack?  _Damien…Oh, God…_

           “Did you see something? Someone? Draw it,” Celine said, holding out a piece of paper to you. There was a quill pen lying on the table and you picked it up and hastily scribbled a picture of the man with the shovel you had seen in the vision. “What is this? This doesn't answer anything! You need to go back! Go back, now!” Celine shouted, standing up, slamming her hands on the table.

           It was then that the door was flung open, making Celine snap her head to the side to look at it, and made you jump. It appeared that everyone had in fact been waiting outside the door, and sure enough, your suspicions about your panic attack were confirmed—your breath started coming in short spurts, and your heart felt as though it was about to burst out of your chest.

           The detective snatched the paper from Celine, and stared at it, confused. “What the shit is this?” he growled.

           Celine snapped at him, and pointed at the door. “Get out! We are not done here!”

           Damien’s voice interrupted his sister, and raised when he saw you essentially having a meltdown in front of him. “Celine, I think this is quite enough!”

           “It’s enough when I  _say_  it's enough!” Celine snarled at her brother, and the detective turned to you.

           “C’mon, partner, let’s go.” However, he made the mistake of grabbing your arm roughly, and you yanked it away from him, instead going over to Damien, who pulled you to him, almost crushing you with how tight his hug was. “Celine, this is more than I was going to allow you to do.”

           The detective stood outside the door, and turned to look at you and Damien. “Come on! Hurry it up! What did she do to you? What is this? Butler! Butler!” Damien escorted you out of the room and followed the detective, still keeping a tight arm around you. He was the only one you would allow to touch you when you were like this, and he wasn’t about to let anyone else near you.

           The butler heard the detective’s shouting and came running over, concern in his voice. “What? What is it?”

           The detective held up the drawing to the butler, who took it from him. “This mean anything to you?” Something flashed in the butler’s eyes, but he denied whatever had struck him.

           “Well, maybe… no, sorry.”

           This angered the detective, who growled, “Spit it out if you got something!” and the butler sighed in defeat. “Well, it could be our groundskeeper, George, but he only works on weekdays.”

           The chef, however, who had followed the butler out into the hallway, stared up and away from everyone, a clear sign of hiding something. “Looks like your friend here may disagree with that notion!” the detective pointed out. The chef looked incredulous. “Me?”

           “Yeah, you,” the detective barked.

           The chef shrugged. “Uh...I don't know shit, I plead the fifth, man,” but the butler stuck a finger in his face, ordering, “Chef, if you know something, for God's sake spit it out!” The chef looked defeated, and held up his arms in the universal ‘you win’ gesture. “Okay, alright, you're twisting my arm, alright. George has been living on the grounds for years.”

           You glanced at Damien, whose expression was still unreadable. He looked down at you, and his expression softened.

           Meanwhile, the butler exclaimed, “ _What?!”_

           The detective looked as annoyed by this as the butler did, and crossed his arms in anger. “And you just now thought to share that information with us? For all we know, he could be the murderer!”

           The lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled on cue.

           Celine stomped down the hall past Damien and you, and over towards the butler, detective, and chef. “For the last time, stop saying that word!”

           The chef seemed done with this, and yelled, “Look. George... just tends to the grounds, man. He's a fuckin' hermit!” However, Abe snarled back, “I don’t care what the fuck he is!”

           Damien finally spoke up, his voice just as frustrated as everyone else’s. “Look, all this arguing is getting us nowhere! Just go outside and talk to this George and be done with it!”

           The detective whirled to face Damien, who was still holding onto you tightly—you had calmed down more as a result of him holding you, but it was obvious you were still shaken up. “Hold on a sec. You're not coming with us?” he asked, and Damien shook his head.

           “I-I need to stay here with Celine. And (Name). Especially (Name). She’s not doing too well,” he murmured. Celine glared daggers at her brother.

           “I don’t need help, especially from you!”

           Damien threw his arms up in frustration, but you still clung to his clothes, forcing your breathing to slow. “Our friend is dead!” When he realized how loud he had become, he lowered his arms and embraced you again, quieting his tone. “I'm sorry. I just need answers to all of this. I already lost one friend today; I don't want to lose another.”

           Celine sighed in defeat. “Fine, but I need to stay here.”

           “Fine with me,” Damien countered.

           Abe growled in frustration. “Fine, good, yeah, whatever, who cares. Alright, you're coming with me,” he said to the chef. “(Name), you too. Hold on a sec. We're missing somebody. Who had eyes on the Colonel?” he asked.

           The butler sighed. “Well, he appeared tired, and... went back to his room.”

           Abe rolled his eyes, but sighed in defeat. “I'm sure he did. And with any luck, he'll stay there.”

           Damien’s eyebrows drew together in a frown and he shook his head. “We can deal with this later. Give me at least a few hours with (Name).”

           The detective exhaled and waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. But when I say it’s time for us three to go outside, it’s time.”

           Celine glared at her brother, but exhaled tersely and headed off to the room where she had been with you. Everyone dispersed, leaving you in the hall with Damien. He looked down at you and sighed. “Come with me.”

           You let him lead you to his room, and when he shut the door, you allowed the tears you had been holding back to fall. “God—I feel so—stupid. For letting myself panic over something so stupid—“

           “It wasn’t stupid, (Name),” Damien murmured, stepping forward towards you, pulling you to him by the waist. “Whatever worries you worries you. You can’t control that.” He leaned his forehead against yours and you felt wetness trickle down his cheeks as well.

           “Damien?”

           “I haven’t allowed myself to mourn. And—God, I figured before things get more insane, I should do this. I figured I should tell you everything,” he whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear him. Damien looked at you, and his eyes shone with unshed tears, but in them you could see what you might even dare to call love. He looked at you like he was about to say something, but stopped himself.

           “What?” you asked, your face flushing. Damien shook his head, and a small smile made its way onto his face before he wiped his tears away.

           “I just. . . I was going to say something, but I forgot it when I looked at you,” he whispered, and your blush increased. “You know I love you, right?” he asked, his hand going to rest on your cheek. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, the calming smell of his cologne washing over you.

           “Yeah, I know,” you whispered back.

           Damien smiled gently as you opened your eyes and met his deep, honey brown gaze. “Good. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you later without you knowing.” His voice sounded pained—and you both knew that anything could happen at this point; the house seemed to have something malevolent about it, this you knew for sure now.

           “I love you too,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his.

           “I figured that one out a long time ago,” he said with a laugh, and you kissed him to shut him up. Caught up in the moment, Damien deepened the kiss, and slid his suit’s jacket off. Pulling away for a moment, his eyes searched yours.

           “Do you… want to?” he whispered, and you nodded, both hands coming up to rest on his cheeks.

           “Yes,” you breathed. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

           Taking that as consent, Damien deepened the kiss again, and under the low light of his room, the two of you made love over and over, making up for lost time—time that neither knew would end in the very near future.


	6. Curses

**_You don't have to be alone_ **   
**_Fallen angel, close your eyes_ **   
**_I won't let you fall tonight_ **

* * *

 

           You lay in bed with Damien, your bodies entwined. The two of you were spooning, with Damien as the big spoon, his face pressed against the back of your neck, in your hair. It was still night, it had just been a few hours since the incident with Celine, and a few hours since Damien had ordered the detective to let him take you aside for a bit. There was a knock at the door—Damien supposed it was the detective. You were still, and Damien gently shook you awake. “(Name)…it’s time to get up. Abe’s outside.”

           You grumbled but sat up, and rubbed your eyes. “Don’t wanna.” You heard Damien laugh gently, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “He won’t wait forever and the last thing I want is him coming in here and seeing you how only I should see you.” An edge of jealousy filled his tone, but he reined himself in.

           “She’ll be out in a moment,” Damien called, and the two heard the detective sigh. You stood up and stretched, before throwing on your clothes. You leaned over the bed and placed a heated kiss on Damien’s lips before pulling away.

           “I’d better go before he breaks down the door,” you murmured with a sigh. With that, Damien pulled the blanket over his lower half quickly, and you opened the door. “Ready,” you grumbled. The detective motioned for you to follow him. “All right, let’s roll out. Come on.” They went down the hall to where the chef was waiting, and the three headed off to the downstairs door that led to the outdoors—and you supposed Damien was probably off with Celine now. Sure enough, you glanced upstairs and saw him stride towards the room Celine had been in, and you sighed a little.

           “Lead the way, Cookie,” the detective ordered, and the chef whirled to face him, expression angry.

           “Cookie? I'm not your Cookie! I spent three weeks at culinary school! I earned the right to be called a chef!” he growled, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little at that statement. Whether it was true or not, you had to admire him for at least diffusing the tension a little.

           The detective rolled his eyes. “I’m very impressed. Just tell us where we’re going. C’mon! Let’s go!” He had his gun in his hands, and your eyes darted to look at it, and you couldn’t help but shiver. Why were there so many trigger-happy people here?

           As they headed outside with the chef leading the way, the detective squinted. “I think I see him. Hey! Buddy! Hands where I can see ‘em!” he ordered, aiming the gun at the groundskeeper—George, you thought.

           George kept his hands on the shovel he was holding challengingly, his grouchy stare meeting the determined stare of Abe. “Hey, my hands are where they’re supposed to be. Unless, of course, you’d like to dig the hole for yourself,” he countered tersely.

           The detective kept his gun aimed at George, and the chef looked as if he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut instead. “What the hell are you doing here?” Abe asked. George gestured widely to the grounds around him, and then placed one hand on his hip. He was an elderly man with slightly long hair, a wide-brimmed hat on his head, and what you could only assume were gardening overalls.

           “I'm the groundskeeper. I keep the grounds, alright? I'd say look around. The ground is pretty well kept in this place, right?” he countered, and you had to resist the urge to laugh. The chef looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, man, this dick made me bring him out here,” he said, gesturing to Abe, who looked absolutely fed up with everyone.

           The detective snarled at the chef, “You shut up,” before he turned to George again and growled, “How do you not know about the murders going on in this house?” He was quickly interrupted, however, by the sound of thunder, and despite yourself, you jumped. “How do you not hear that lightning?”

           George gestured at the sky, and then the area around him. “Lightning is the sky's business! Look at the ground! When the ground starts shooting up lightning, I'll let you know!” he shot back, clearly fed up with Abe’s questioning.

           “Alright then, smartass, why exactly are you digging that hole? And why shouldn't we suspect you for taking part in the death of your employer?” Abe questioned, still keeping the gun pointed at George, who laughed, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the words George said next—they were the exact words you had seen in the clairvoyant visions Celine had induced.

           “Employers come and go! Some die, some don't, some are murdered, some are not. It's not my business! I'm digging this hole for a burst water pipe, if that's alright with your gracefulness!” George responded with a sarcastic tone. However, there was one key factor that struck you then—the lightning didn’t flash when George said the word ‘murder.’

           “See, I told you. George didn't do nothin’, man!” the chef countered.

           George slapped the shovel down onto the ground and replied, “See? I just did nothing.”

           The detective then took on a sarcastic tone in response, clearly fed up with all of the replies or lack thereof that he was getting. “Forgive me for not taking you at face value. But we're all gonna come inside, we're gonna sit down, and have a nice lovely chat, and get to the bottom of this before I lose my mind, and start dabbling in murder myself!” he snarled; this statement punctuated by lightning.

           George pointed at Abe, index finger level with the detective’s nose, and then he pointed at you as well. “Now, you listen to me, sonny. It's been fifteen years since I've been in that house. And I am not about to break that winning streak now. I don't care how many murders there've been. I ain't going near that house!” Once again, no lightning occurred when George uttered the word.

           You were about to say something else, but George continued speaking. “However, there is _one reason_. _One incident_. _One manifestation_ that will get me into that mad house. You had better pray to God that that reason never comes to pass.”

           Right as George said that however, there was a huge thunderclap and a bright flash of lightning, and everything in the house was illuminated by almost alien-like lights through the windows. George then shouted, “ _That there’s the reason!_ ” and took off running towards the house.

           The chef and detective ran after him, and the detective shouted “Go, go, go!” Still holding his gun, he gestured at the door, and you took off ahead of the chef up the stairs to the room where Celine had been with you before. In their dash to the room, you glanced to the side and your eyes locked with the Colonel’s, but you kept going. The door was flung open by Celine, who was backlit by the same ethereal light that had shone through the windows—and the expression on her face was absolutely malevolent. George tried to shut the door but to everyone’s chagrin, Celine’s hand was still on the door, and she kept it wide open.

           “Somebody help me!” George shouted, as Celine smirked devilishly. The light picked up again and you were left shielding your eyes, wondering what exactly was happening now, and where Damien was, as someone shut the door on Celine.


	7. Burning Pain

**_A fallen angel, in the dark_ **   
**_Never thought you'd fall so far_ **   
**_Fallen angel, close your eyes_ **

* * *

 

Now that the door was shut, the Colonel came stomping over after everything had calmed down. “What the hell is going on? Where's Celine?” he demanded. You could only assume that Celine had been possessed—you wouldn’t be surprised considering how much Celine had dabbled in the occult. But while the Colonel seemed more concerned about Celine, your worries were all directed towards Damien.

“Where the hell is Damien?” you piped up, voice wavering. You didn’t know where Damien was and now that you had been  _together_ , and now that you had confessed your feelings, your heart was breaking that much worse. “Is he…?” Not wanting to complete the sentence, you shook your head vigorously. “ _No…_ ”

George began walking away from the door that Celine had been behind—and predictably Damien had been behind as well. The light had been too bright and nobody had been able to tell what was going on after the door had been shut. “She's gone, and so is everyone else,” he said cryptically, continuing to head away from everyone.

Abe started to stomp after him, yelling, “Wait a minute, where the hell do you think you're going?!” He was clearly annoyed by the lack of answers, but George didn’t seem inclined to give him the information he desired.

Shouting back over his shoulder as he left, George replied, “Away from here! This place is cursed! If you'd half a brain, you'd all do the same.”

You found yourself trembling again, the anxiety trickling back in like a sly snake. “D-Damien…”

The Colonel seemed to be in the same boat, and looked around frantically, yelling back at George as he left, “Don't walk away from me! Where's Celine? Where's Damien!?” Your gaze met his, and you saw mirrored in his eyes the same pain, the same worry. The chef aimed his ladle at the Colonel, holding it up at chin level.

He clearly was angry with something, though with what specifically you didn’t know. “I've spent 25 years cooking for these uppity fucks. I'm not about to die for 'em! I quit! Bitch!” With that the chef spun on his heel and left, and then you were left standing with the detective, the butler, and the Colonel, and you looked down at your hands, which were trembling.

“I know things seem far beyond your control right now, but such that it is for all of us here. I shall take my leave, and I implore you to do the same,” the butler said, coming forward and rested a hand on the Colonel’s shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the Colonel was quaking with rage.

The Colonel glared at the butler, and he seemed taken aback, but took his hand off the Colonel’s shoulder. “I won't let my friends die in this godforsaken house! And if you all are too much of a coward to do the same, you had best leave before I kill you myself!” He whirled to face everyone one by one, and then started to stride off in the same direction everyone else had headed, predictably to try and find Damien and Celine—and it was heartbreaking for you to watch.  

The detective followed the Colonel and grasped onto his arm, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Now you hold on a second, I've got more questions–“

With that, the Colonel wrenched his arm out of the grasp of the detective and glared at him, yelling, “Get your hands off me!” With that, the Colonel took off down the staircase, leaving just the detective, the butler, and you.

“What the hell is going on here?!” the detective said to nobody in particular, heading off after the Colonel.

Now it was just you and the butler, whose eyes were sympathetic as his gaze met yours. “I know he's in pain and I know you might be, too... But we need to leave this place. There's only death here now,” he told you simply before taking off.

You were left standing at the top of the stairs, and almost suddenly, the environment of the house changed—it was the same type of environment that had been present when Celine had forced you into the more clairvoyant realm—You accepted it now. This house… it was cursed. George had been right the whole time. It explained why lightning occurred every time the word ‘murder’ was uttered. It explained why everything was so otherworldly.

Everything was distorted, slowed, and your heartbeat echoed in your ears. As well, all of a sudden, you heard a female voice whispering in your ears—was it Celine?  _How the hell could it be Celine? She was dead._

_“Hey. Help.”_

_As you moved through the house, down the stairs, you heard distorted, twisted murmurings of things familiar and yet not, much like you had when you had the time with Celine in the small room._

_“Madness! You wanna talk about madness? Madness is stealing your best friend’s wife.”_

_“Be careful.”_

_“Now this evening, it’s not all about the poker; it’s not all about me.”_

_“Can’t we resolve this amicably?”_

_“Life needs a bit of madness, eh, chap?”_

_“Good to let the beast out every once in a while, eh, old friend?”_

_“I'm not gonna just sit around and let you drag my partner off to her very likely death!”_

_“I thought I told you to stay out of my kitchen!”_

_“A domain of evil this is... but in we must go.”_

_Some of the words were unintelligible, but as you descended and continued through the house, you came across a room you had not yet seen in your time in the house—you might as well go in, right?_

The distortion, and everything else faded, returned back to normal, though your heartbeat was still echoing in your ears.

The room you had entered was a mess—it looked as though the detective had been here, as there were bulletin boards with multiple pictures of everyone, and many papers on the desk that all read  _the Colonel did it_ , and your heart broke in your chest when you got closer to the bulletin board—there was a picture of Damien on one of the boards, and your fingers traced over it. Tears inadvertently fell from your eyes, and a sob escaped you. “Why? I don’t even fucking know what happened to you!  _You told me you loved me, was it all a lie?!_ ” you whispered at the picture.

Your grief was interrupted by the Colonel who had found the room, though much to your surprise, he wasn’t being followed by the detective. He stomped forward towards you, seemingly indifferent to your grief and the mess of things all reading that he was the guilty party responsible for Mark’s death. “There you are! I've been meaning to ask you some questions– What is this?” He looked around at the things on the desk, and at the bulletin board, and his anger spiked again.

“The detective's been keeping tabs on us? The detective's been keeping tabs on me. And Celine! He's the one who orchestrated  _all_  of this! He  _did_  this!” The Colonel’s voice raised steadily, and he didn’t even give you a second glance—he was already heading out the door of the room and was shouting for Abe.

“Detective!  _Detective_! Where is he?” With that he took off up the stairs, and you followed behind him, not sure what to do or say. The Colonel seemed to be on to something, and quite frankly you didn’t want to be reminded of what you had lost by looking at the pictures of Damien.

The Colonel’s hands clenched into fists as he stomped up the stairs. “He took them from me... He took my friends from  _me_. He took...Celine. He took Damien! Where is he?  _Where is he_?!” he snarled. About halfway up the stairs the Colonel whirled on you and you shrieked as he yelled at you abruptly. “Detective! Are you hiding him from me?! He can't hide forever.” When you made a motion to get in his way, to keep him from acting out of anger, he shouted, “Get out of my way! Detective!” With that he took off again, and you shouted after him.

“Colonel—are you sure about this?!” you screamed, hoping that somehow your pleas would get through to him but it was useless. He was hell bent on finding the detective, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he killed him.

“I told you to get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Way,” the Colonel snarled back at you, not even stopping until he reached the top floor that you had just left, finding the detective standing near the balcony that was two or three floors up inside the house.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, the Colonel found the detective and pulled his gun out from the holster at his belt, aiming it at him, and you stood behind the Colonel, your chest heaving up and down as air left you in labored, panicked breaths. In response, Abe aimed his gun at the Colonel and growled, “You better choose your next words carefully, Colonel.”

You raised a hand out towards the Colonel as if to stop him, though some part of you knew it would be useless. The Colonel didn’t take getting called this by the detective well at all, and tightened his grip on his gun. “Only my friends get to call me by that name, and you, sir, are no friend of mine!”

The detective snarled back, “Well you’re one to talk about friends, you murderer!” As if on cue, the lightning went off, and the Colonel seemed to panic. “I know it was you,  _William_. I pieced everything together. The night of the party when we were all drunk off our asses save for Mark, you went down with him into the wine cellar and played a round of Russian roulette. Didn’t end well for you, now did it?”

Your eyes widened, and you spoke up for the first time in minutes. “Was—was that what happened?”

Abe shrugged, not even looking at you—he wasn’t about to take his eyes of the Colonel—no, William—for a second. “That’s what happened based off the evidence I found from the night of the party. I could be wrong. But with this insane fucking house, who knows what was going on.”

William piped up in response, voice shaky, but hand on his gun steady. “I didn’t kill anybody! This is madness!”

The detective snarled back, “Oh, you wanna talk about madness? Madness is stealing your best friend’s wife. Madness is squeezing him for cash to fund your own sick sexual exploits with that very woman—“

You gasped. It all made sense. Celine had run off with the Colonel—William—and Mark had not taken losing his wife to his best friend well. You didn’t know what exactly the specifics were but now the puzzle places were falling into place. “Shut up!” the Colonel growled, becoming much more agitated.

Seemingly not picking up on any of the cues being given by the Colonel, Abe continued railing on him. “Madness is plotting the death of your childhood friend because you can’t handle the—“ He was cut off by the sound of a gunshot, and he fell back against the wall behind him, clutching his stomach, letting out a cough, hatred filling his eyes as he glared at the Colonel.

Though you weren’t very close with Abe, you instinctively reached out to grab William’s arm and wrench his gun away from him so you could hopefully treat Abe’s wounds and get them all out of this madhouse. It was the least you could do. There was nothing left to live for. Damien was gone—

As you yanked at the Colonel’s sleeve, and the two of you scuffled, the Colonel’s finger grazed the trigger and the deafening sound of a second gunshot rang out.

You felt a burning sensation in your gut, and your hands went down to your stomach before you lifted them to your face.

They were covered in blood.

You had lost all purchase, all footing, and were now falling backwards, hands reaching out for the Colonel’s as he tried to grab you. And as you fell, you could hear the distorted, slowed voice of William shouting, “It was an accident! I swear…”

When your body hit the ground two floors below, there was a snap, a radiating pain in your neck, and then blackness.


	8. Not My Body Anymore

**_I was right beside you_ **   
**_When you went to hell and back again_ **   
**_And I couldn't save a fallen angel_ **

* * *

 

_At first, there was nothing. Nothing but blackness, nothing but darkness._

_Then you heard the sound of a heartbeat—was it your own? Someone else’s?_

_You lay on some sort of ground, though you felt the cool touch of water brushing in waves against your face and arms, and you forced yourself to sit up. You could feel the echoes of pain in your neck and stomach, but could barely remember what happened. There was a different echo of pain lower down in your stomach, closer to your thighs, and you glanced down. Nothing._

_You reeled back in surprise when you saw the body of Mark lying in the water—his eyes were dark black, soulless, his body mangled and absolutely broken, and with the most apathetic tone, he—or it, or whatever it was—spoke. “It’s not fair, is it?”_

_You glanced down at your hands. They were transparent, and there was a pale violet light radiating from you, and you found yourself shaking. “Wh-what is this?” The only source of light in the endless blackness around you was the purple, though sounds began to echo, the water, the sound of the small waves, and then the sound of two pairs of footsteps sloshing through the shallow water, eventually stopping at the mangled corpse at your feet._

_There was a gradual illumination of the rippling, gray water below them, two lights much like that which you were radiating: one a pale blue and one a deep red._

_Your eyes slowly moved up from the feet of the figures, and you let out a broken sob when you saw who it was in front of you._

_It was Damien and Celine._

_You stepped over the body and fell into Damien’s arms, the pain you had been keeping in your heart leaving you as you sobbed into his chest as if the world was ending. “Oh—oh my God… Damien… I… what…”_

_He wrapped his arms around you and crushed you to him, but the embrace was lacking in warmth and Damien’s usual kindness. It was as if death, or whatever this was, had sapped all of it from him._

_“D-Damien… I think…”_

_Damien pressed a finger against your lips to shush you, and your eyes searched his. There was no trace of that honey-brown gaze you had loved so much, no trace of that beautiful, gentle smile that had offered you so much comfort. Celine looked away as if to give the two a moment of privacy, and in your desperation, You pressed your lips against Damien’s over and over, hoping to seek some sort of warmth, but there was none._

_“(Name), stop,” he murmured in between desperate kisses. “Stop for a moment.” He glanced at Celine and tapped her on the shoulder and Celine’s eyes met yours._

_“You’re dead,” Celine said simply. “Both you and the child you had conceived.”_

_That sealed the nail in the coffin of grief, and your hands clutched at Damien’s suit with a grip as tight as a vise. Damien offered no verbal comfort, just continued to hold you as the tears silently left your eyes._

_After you had cried for a sufficient amount of time and your sobs had quieted, Damien spoke. “He took everything from us. He trapped us in here with this broken shell and no way out.” You could only assume he was referring to Mark._

_Celine sighed sadly, gesturing at the body at their feet. “It’s true. This whole time I thought it was the house but… I never thought he’d fall this far.” Damien’s grip tightened on you and anger filled his eyes—it was a fearsome expression you had never seen on his face before._

_"And we played right into his hands. He’d been planning this for years and now that son-of-a-bitch is out there walking around in my body—“ Damien started, but he was cut off by Celine, who held up a hand to quiet her brother._

_“Damien, we CAN'T do this right now. Look, I know you have questions and I can't answer everything right now. Just know that Mark took everything from us from his twisted quest of vengeance. But death does not mean the same thing here,” she told you, who hiccupped slightly, blinking away the tears._

_“Wh-what?” you asked, and Damien tipped your chin up so your gaze met his. “What Celine means by that is… This doesn’t have to be the end. You’re trapped in here just the same as us, but your body, broken as it may be, it’s still out there.” He feathered light kisses over your eyelids, and you buried your face in his neck, inhaling deeply—there wasn’t even a trace of his cologne left._

_“Mark’s not the only one that can use this place to his benefit. The same way that I brought you here, is the same way that I can send you back,” Celine told you, and your eyes widened._

_Damien shook his head sadly. “But you can't survive on your own. You're dead, after all. My friend, the Colonel, saw to that.” A ghost of the smile that he would once often flash so often made its way onto his face, though it was tinged with sadness. “You have a chance. Our child however… does not.”_

_Celine sighed, and her eyes met Damien’s. “You can’t blame him. Honestly, he’s a good man. But he’s dangerous now.”_

_Damien’s grip tightened on your waist, and he kissed your temple before touching his forehead to yours. “I know this all sounds crazy. Honestly, I don't know what the fuck is going on. But I know that I trust Celine. And if you trust us... Just...let me in. We can fix this. Together. And I won’t have you stuck here. I’m going to protect you, I’m going to make sure you survive and get back there. We’ll fix this together. I promise. And then maybe…”_

_He trailed off quietly, but one hand went to your stomach, the stomach that would not swell with new life any more. “Maybe,” was all he said, before he made a nod at Celine with his head, indicating that you should pay attention to her._

_Celine held up her hands as if she were going to push someone. “I won't force this on you. You have a choice here. Just know this is the only way that you can escape.” Still remaining in Damien’s embrace, you shut your eyes and nodded. “Just relax,” Celine murmured._

_Damien pressed a kiss to your forehead one last time before you felt your spirit going backwards, as if returning to life. “This'll work. I promise,” he whispered._

Blinking, you opened your eyes, and sat up. You had been lying on the floor where you had fell, and you looked down at your body—it was intact, save for a pool of dried blood under where you had been, and your neck was a little sore. There were creaking noises and a rumble of thunder, but you were surprised—it had worked.

Standing up, you blinked one more time and were shocked to see William sitting on a bench in front of you. It had been night when you had fallen, that much you remembered. But now here he was sitting in daylight, clutching Damien’s cane tightly, as if it were a lifeline for him. There was no sign of the detective, and even William’s outfit was different than it had been when he had shot you. He was wearing a yellowish shirt with khaki pants, and bright red suspenders—his hat was gone, the only part of his outfit that looked familiar to you was the glasses, and your heart sank when you saw him wearing a bowtie.

Was he hoping Damien would just walk out of nowhere?

As he stood up and moved towards you, you backed up, and you had a fearful expression on your face as you did so. William’s hand was reaching out for you as if to confirm that it was you, and he started smiling, something you hadn’t expected from him. “Oh no! No, it’s okay! I—I thought you were dead. I—I—I mean, of course you’re not dead! You’re not—how could you be dead? I mean, I—I wouldn’t have killed you. I—I didn’t kill you,” he stuttered.

William had gradually moved over towards a mirror in the corner of the front entryway, and he placed Damien’s cane down on the table in front of the mirror. “I mean, of cour—I--I... Of course! I didn't kill anybody!” He laughed and looked up, as if looking up to the heavens to confirm his suspicions. “I didn’t—It was all a joke! Of course, it was all a joke! Were you in on this, (Name)? Did Damien put you up to this? Of course he did!”

You could only assume that madness had set in as William went swaggering through the house, shouting, “Damien, where are you, you rapscallion? Where are you? Celine? Ah, it's time to come out now! It was good, it was good! You almost had me! Ha! Ha, ha...Celine?”

You had walked over to the table and picked up the cane and your hand switched from that of a woman’s--yours—to that of a man’s right before your eyes, but it wasn’t your body anymore. As your body looked up into the mirror and your spirit locked eyes with the body—now resembling Damien, he glanced at the cane, cracked his neck and then met your gaze as the mirror cracked.. Something in it was primal, animalistic, and his eyes darkened, his eyebrows drew together in a frown, and it was then you realized you were trapped.

You had been pushed out of your own body, and now all that was left was some sort of horrifying amalgamation of your body, a little bit of Celine and Damien, and whatever darkness was in the house. Damien was gone.

As  _he_  looked in the mirror and his gaze met yours, he whirled away and exited the house, leaving your spirit trapped in the mirror.

Pressing your hand against the glass, tears streamed down your face and you smashed it with your fists. “Damien!  _Damien!!_ No! You promised me we’d come back together. You promised! Please! Please, you promised!” you sobbed, but your cries fell on deaf ears as William departed out one of the back doors of the house and you were left alone in the house, trapped in the broken glass that mirrored the shattered pieces of your heart and the future that could have been.


End file.
